CHAPTER ONE

 

 

As a rule, I didn’t give two craps about Valentine’s Day. It was a capitalistic scam that I had successfully refused to participate in for more than twenty years. No way was I going to be pulled into spending an insane amount of money to shower someone with gifts on the premise of “love”. Ha! The same women who demanded lavish Valentine’s Day gifts were hilariously content not receiving so much as a card the other 364 days of the year. They were deluded, all of them.

If it wasn’t for my job as an elementary school teacher, I would never even acknowledge this day. As it were, v-day was a big thing for primary schoolers. My school looked like a pink and white tornado had blown through and left every wall and window covered in decorations. It was understood that there would be a party in every classroom, complete with an exchange of cards and candy. My class would not only have a party, but would get to watch a movie as well. Despite how I felt about this fake holiday, I didn’t mind having what was essentially a half free day. I took a deep breath and stretched, patting the other side of the bed to see if it was still warm. It wasn’t.

With a pout, I threw back the covers and padded across the room into the attached bathroom, where my closet was located, so I could get ready for work.

 

Lee—

You’re so fine. Girl, will you be mine?

—J

 

Each word was on a separate paper that had been arranged into a heart above the double sink that was mine. My lips curved into a smile as I recognized the message scrawled in cramped, loopy handwriting on the sticky notes stuck to the bathroom mirror. It was the first thing Jeremiah said to me on the day we met almost sixteen years ago.

 

My class had ended and I’d been standing outside of the art building talking to a few of my classmates when he smoothly broke into the circle and grabbed my hand. His boldness had shocked me into silence and I watched with raised eyebrows as he bent his head and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of my knuckles.

The three girls I’d been discussing an assignment with erupted with a chorus of “Ooohh!” And I felt my golden brown skin heat at the public display.

I knew who he was. In the two years that I’d been a student at UAPB, I had seen Jeremiah around campus quite a few times but was sure he’d never seen me. That made his approach even more confusing.

He lifted those chestnut brown eyes to mine and speared me with his gaze, rendering me not only mute but immobile. It wasn’t until his lips—plump and brown—parted and he said, “You’re so fine. Girl, will you be mine?” That the spell was broken.

I retracted my hand as my friends and I burst out laughing. With a shake of my head I shifted my books from one arm to the other and I responded with, “Boy, stop playing!”

My moment of confusion was instantly cleared up. If he was giving me a line as corny as that one, I knew he had to be joking and it probably had something to do with the two dudes who stood ten yards away, cracking up. Without a second thought, I eased past him and walked across the lawn, resuming the previously interrupted conversation with my classmates who followed me but couldn’t help but steal curious glances at Jeremiah.

 

I chuckled as I brushed my teeth and washed my face‍. It had been a long time since I’d thought about that day and I appreciated the sweet gesture in the reminder. As I moved throughout the rest of my regular morning routine—getting dressed, styling my kinky black hair, and applying my makeup— my eyes kept drifting to the sticky note and I found myself smiling,

With my purse in one hand and my shoes in the other, I descended the stairs and entered the kitchen where the scene caused my jaw to drop open and my eyes to widen in surprise. In the middle of the spacious kitchen stood my fully dressed eleven-year-old daughter holding a tray in her hands. My child, whose eyes did not open until I switched on her bedroom light and pulled back her covers every morning, was downstairs and in the kitchen before me. A sound of disbelief fell from my lips and as soon as the dark-brown eyes that she’d inherited from her father took notice of me, she huffed loudly and stomped her foot.

“Aww, mommy! I was supposed to bring you breakfast in bed!”

I smirked even as my heart melted at her confession. Placing my purse on the island counter top and dropping my shoes on the wood floor, I headed toward her. “You would have had to have this together an hour ago if that was your intention, Ja’mya.”

“Man!” Her thin shoulders drooped with disappointment and she placed the tray on the island.

I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her to me, pressing a kiss to her forehead. No matter what today was, if my daughter was trying to surprise me, I would do what I could to go along with it.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Show me what you made for me so I can eat it right now.”

Surprisingly, she shook her head. “No, daddy made this, I was just supposed to bring it to you.”

“Daddy cooked this morning?” My brows lifted and I looked around as if I expected Jeremiah to come around the corner. I wasn’t surprised that he had cooked. Sabrina Hawkins made sure all three of her sons knew how to cut up in the kitchen. Jeremiah didn’t really get the opportunity because I loved to cook and try new recipes for my family. My reaction was more or less tied to the heart shaped note on my bathroom mirror with this nostalgic breakfast as a follow up.

Ja’mya nodded and removed the frosted glass cake dome—which, I made a mental note to speak to Jeremiah about using it for anything other than cake— and set it gingerly on the silestone counter top. My cheeks lifted as I recognized the meal on the plate. The sautéed pork chop, two-egg cheese omelet, and buttered, cinnamon raisin bread was identical to the meal Jeremiah had cooked for me the morning after our first sleepover, just three months after his failed one-liner.

 

It was the smell of frying pork that woke me up. I lifted my arms above my head in a stretch but froze as I remembered where I was. After a perfect date of barbecue and bowling, Jeremiah had invited me back to the house he shared with his younger brother Jereth, not far from campus. It hadn’t taken much convincing for him to kiss me out of my clothes or for me to agree to stay the night.

After a trip to the bathroom, I pulled on my clothes from the night before and followed the smells until I reached the galley kitchen. My mouth went dry at the sight of the delicious mahogany skin on his shirtless body as he maneuvered around the small space with ease.

When he noticed me standing in the doorway, he grinned.

“Good morning, beautiful. You hungry?”

I remember how I’d licked my lips while staring brazenly at the thick bulge in his loose basketball shorts. How I’d dragged my gaze up his muscular frame until my eyes met his own and murmured huskily, “I could eat.”

He held a spatula in one hand and the other slapped against his chest.

“Damn, girl. You gon’ make me say ‘fuck this breakfast’ I made for you and carry your ass back to bed.”

My cheeks heated at the image his vulgarity brought to mind and just as I started to tell him that didn’t sound like a bad idea, my stomach erupted with a loud gurgle, causing us both to laugh.

 

I thanked my daughter for her assistance and instructed her to go back upstairs and finish getting ready for school. Once she was gone, I dragged the tray across the island and plopped down onto a barstool as I dug in. My eyes fluttered closed as the still warm food warmed my heart as well.

This meal, plus this morning’s note, were equivalent to an unexpected and expensive gift but because they were obviously well thought out and didn’t cost much of anything, I didn’t know how to take them. Jeremiah and I had never celebrated Valentine’s Day. Many debates in college—led by myself—made us agree to reject social constructs like man-made holidays, traditional gender roles, and marriage. Years later, it still worked for us and I had no desire to rock the boat. I couldn’t deny, though, that these few priceless surprises felt like small waves that soothed instead of scared me.

I wonder what that man of mine had up his sleeve.